


Title Under Construction

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Grimm (TV), Inception (2010), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Suits (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bunnymund, an artist, just wants to illustrate children's books. When he gets a job offer to design worlds for a new technology by toy tycoon, Nicholas St. North, he can't turn it down. Along the way, he meets a motley cast of characters ranging from a mute neurologist to a guilty crypto-zoologist. </p><p>In other words, North hires Bunny as the architect in an Inception.</p><p>Warning: fandoms will be crossing in and out of this story. They will be listed along as the appear, but as of yet I have no idea which and how many will be appearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, down the rabbit hole.

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea if I'll ever finish this. But yeah, basic idea being that they're sort of performing an inception. Problem being that it isn't really an inception and I won't be sticking to the canonical Inception track. Just borrowing a few characters and the technology.

Aster just stared at the man in the suit. He knew that face and definitely that paunch. Oh, god, he was taking an interview with the devil.

-

Better to start at, well, the start. E. Aster Bunnymund walked carefully. His steps were light as air. Each was carefully placed, like dancer's or a boxer's. He was both.

"Can I take your order?" And dirt poor.

The girl rattled off her order and his hand took down her words. Three cheeseburgers, fries, and a chocolate milkshake, he noted absent mindedly that no girl could eat that alone and look like a twig... Well, they could but then that girl would be... Yeah, he was listening way too much to Alen too much. The bloke read women like wine menus and went through then like they went through tissues. He really shouldn't listen to Alen.

He made his way up to the counter, where Leah waited to pass the order along. She smiled at him.

"Guess what I did?" Her green streaked red curls bounced and green eyes sparkled.

Aster smiled at his friend. He's Aussie; she's Irish. They somehow bonded over an Easter break stuck in Sydney in which he decided to move to America. Fat lot of luck that was. Then of course the Irish lass followed and here they were, disobeying her parents and trying find jobs in New York.

"What?"

She grinned. "I got the restaurant to set up a compost bin in the back. We have recycling, compost, and garbage now!" Aster patted her head. She was such a greenie.

"That's great. Now, pass this order along to Sully, why don't you?" he asked nodding to the chef in the back. The man didn't look up from his game console. Leah rolled her eyes and did so. Aster looked out over the restaurant. It was empty and on a Friday night, which just proved business wasn't good.

"Aster," Leah called. Her face puckered into a frown. "Did your mind go off on the Tardis?"

Aster, returning to earth, laughed. "Never without you! I know you like Tenant far too much, greenie."

Leah cracked a small smile. "Well, the boss wants to talk to you." Aster nodded, taking the order.

He deposited it on the girl's table with a quick, "Enjoy your chokkie," and rabbited off. Ms. Marcella didn't like to be kept waiting.

-

He nudged open the door to her office with a knock. "Ms. Marcella?"

A blonde woman of his age waved him in. Marcella Primavera was a short, and spirit like woman. She always dressed in pastels and bright colors that clung like blossoms to wisteria branches. Her eyebrows pulled forward into a frown and gnawed on her lower lip. She wasn't cut out for running a small business. She was more of a give the poor a voice type person. Aster knew she didn't want to take over her father's little diner, but there would Anthea's be without her? She gestured for him to sit in one of her floral arm chairs.

"What's hopping?" he asked, sounding nonchalant. Very rarely did she look so frustrated.

"Aster, you've worked here for three years now. I..." she halted. Aster wanted to brush the tears out of her eyes. They'd become friends, even dated for a little while before going back to friendship, and he didn't like seeing the people he cared about cry.

"Am I being fired?" She hid her face and shook her head.

"It's about Leah. I wanted to know if... You'd..." she choked on the last word. Everyone at the little diner was family. To be without one another just felt wrong. "We're barely making it as is. I don't think I can keep her on. You're more experienced and the regulars know you better. I don't have a choice."

"Marcy..." Aster put his hand over hers. She pulled her hand back, not looking him in the eye. "Marcy, fire me. I didn't tell you this, but I have an interview at the gym down the street, teaching a tai chi class. Leah's working on her Ph.D. She needs this more than I do."

Marcella nodded.

"E. Aster Bunnymund, despite your hard work and dedication, I am sorry to say you are fired. Please, return your uniform and vacate your locker as soon as possible. I will notify your coworkers. You have done well, may fortune guide you wherever you go and in whatever you do." Aster shook her hand.

"It's been great working with you Marcella."

"Likewise, Aster." He turned and left for the door.

"Hey," she called out. Aster turned around.

"You never told me. What is your first name?"

He smiled and she shook her head. "Go on then."

The slightly cooler air of the diner embraced him, as he stepped out a free man.

-

Leah looked up from the newspaper she was reading and asked, "What happened?"

He shrugged. "Diner's too slow. I got fired."

She blanked at him. "What?"

"No worries. Remember that ad we saw yesterday? How many people are going to apply for a tai chi class?" He walked to the back.

Sully looked up from his Mario Cart. "Hey, bro. Fired?"

Aster laughed. "Sorry, mate; looks like you're last man standing."

"I already was, flower boy. Going to leave us for some hot chicks?" The device blinked and flashed as Sully rounded bother bend.

"More like little kids and the elderly," Leah chided.

"I have to get the job first." Aster cracked open us locker. An extra t-shirt, a few photos, and a sketch book into his messenger bag.

He gave them a cocky grin. "I got my Irish Lass and Lucky Bamboo. Who knows? Someone at Marks and Mitchell might call be back first!"

Leah rolled her eyes in good nature, "Remember us little people."

"It'll be my shout," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah! Take that! Boom chicka bow wow!" Sully cheered as he crossed the finish line.

-

Aster stepped out of his shower. Two days until his interview at the gym. Mentally, he went over the names of all the stances. His answering machine buzzed.

"Hello, Mike Ross from Marks and Mitchell." Aster tripped over his paint splattered rug.  "I'm calling on E. Aster Bunnymund on behalf of Harvey Specter?"

"Here!" He could hear Mike laughing on the other end.

"What's up, man? I thought you'd be at work." There was a clack of keys on the other end.

Aster sniffed. "This Aussie's got in interview on Thursday." He tightened the towel around his waist and padded off to the kitchen.

Mike mumbled something that had to do with can openers and muttered, "Great. Pencil one in for tomorrow at nine."

Aster almost poured the coffee on his hand. "What? Are you barmy?"

"No. Apparently, someone Harry knew wants to meet you." mike continued tapping away at the other end.

"Your tall poppy's actual got a writer for me?" A light bounce found its way into his step.

Mike grunted, "More like the firm is going to get a big check if our mystery man likes you."

Aster stopped in his tracks. "It sounds like you're selling me to a drug ring."

"We try to sell you on a regular basis. I think that's our job. You in, or I have to put you on Harvey's smudge list for a little?" Mike sighed into the phone. Aster pulled it away from his ear. That was... Odd.

"Smudge?" he asked.

Now infinitely more cheerful, Mike chirped, "I came up with it. People who either refused him, or annoy him, but are necessary."

"The weird guy, Louis, on that list?" Aster barely remembered him.

There was a click on the other end. "Hm... No..."

"So, I'll be the only one?"

"No, Jacinda Barrett has yet to call him back about dinner."

Aster frowned. "You're not supposed to tell me things like that."

"She's never going to call him back, so I don't see the issue."

Aster sighed, "Mike..."

"Aster..." the little dipstick mimicked. “Chill. She's married to Gabriel Macht. Got a pen?" He rattled off an address.

Aster winced as he penned the address onto his sketch of Notre Dame. "Yeah... This place at nine?"

Mike chirped back, "Sharp, and sketch some scenery. Don't want to get smudged!"

"You're learning far too much from Jessica."

Aster just listened to the receiver click and the dial tone play.

-

Aster breathed deeply trying not to choke on air. When he took down the address, he googled it. In the meantime, his computer fried after he spilled coffee on it.

The Workshop, he was in The Workshop, the home of one the biggest corporate enterprises on earth. This place singlehandedly kept Christmas alive in fourteen countries.

He still liked Easter better, but he had to give kudos. It was a pretty big freaking deal. He was also in the tallest building in New York. Not that that made him uncomfortable. No, it didn't make him uncomfortable at all. He was calm and cool and... Who was he kidding? There was a reason why he wasn't looking out the wall of glass behind his interviewer.

The man stroked his beard while going over a few preliminary sketches Aster brought along. A cavernous, cave city sprung from the back ground in one. In another, a castle of pink and violet, filled with Arabic influence, dominated the scene. Then, he had a little cabin, with rooms filled with Marchen and baroque patterns. There was a huge cavern filled with gothic architecture and a simple street.

Aster grimaced as the man's face contorted into a disapproving frown. His leg tapped silently in double time, hoping he didn't look jittery. Why couldn't the earth just open up and send him back to his little hole of an apartment?

The man sniffed. "I like."

Aster stilled. Nicholas St. North, king of children's toys and the center of Forbes's Real Santa article, liked his work. Oh, the room started spinning.

The man took one look at his face and laughed. The sound rocked the table. "You will be great designer. I feel it in my belly."

"Err... Yeah, Mr. St. North." Aster breathed deeply.

"I hire you now! Call me North; I call you Bunnymund." Aster nodded. He should take this as a sign of good faith.

North grinned and looked at his resume. "Sorry, must go through motions, you know. You say you worked in cafe and flower shop?"

Aster nodded. "Anthea's is a small place by Murray's. They couldn't afford to keep me on. 68th Street Flowers went bankrupt." North nodded.

"Harvey say you want to paint books?"

"Yeah, little kiddie books. Tell them stories." Aster went on, "Give them something to think about. Books are really good for kids. They give a sort of happiness that you can't get anywhere else. It's really hard to explain, but..." He trailed off. What was the word for it?

North leaned Back in his chair. "Tell me, Bunnymund, what is your center?"

"Center?" The big man got out of his char and lumbered to the walnut shelf along the wall. On the top shelf, there sat a matryoshka. Aster blinked. He recalled seeing that as he walked in. The detail, even from the distance, was impressive. But, he thought, that's just a toy, isn't it?

"No, Bunnymund, this isn't just a toy. Take a closer look." North pressed the doll into Aster's hands. He ran his fingers over the painted wood, feeling the texture. The doll was made extremely well, almost as if it grew into that shape.

"What do you see?"

"You?"

"What else do you see?"

"You're scary?" "Intimidating?" He searched for the crease and cracked it open.

He looked at the smiling face, "You're happy. Oh, jolly!" North beamed at him and motioned for him to move on.

Aster opened the next. He asked, bewildered, "You're a vampire?" North choked on air and gave him a desperate look. Aster squinted.

"Mysterious?" North sighed, shaking his head with a patient smile on his face.

Aster smiled at the next. "You're caring." He ran his thumb pad over the deer.

He opened the final layer. "And you're a child?"

"What does child do when face with Santa?"

Aster looked beyond the sinking feeling in his chest. Christmas wasn't always... Sweet in his childhood. It was more asking for a family every Christmas and not getting one. He remembered the last Christmas he believed in Santa. It was terrible to stake all your belief in one thing, just a sign, only to find nothing when morning broke.

He thought to the little girl he saw in the lobby down stairs. He knew the look in her eyes as she gazed up at the huge globe in the center of the room and all those glowing dots that represented homes to be filled with presents. There was purity there. Something only found in childhood.

"Wonder." Aster gazed at the little wide-eyed babe in his palm.

"Yes, wonder, like a child. I see all the wonder in world and put in my toys." Aster reassembled the matryoshka and placed it in North's hand.

"What is your center?"

Aster glanced over his sketches... "Imagination?"

North rolled his eyes. "You will learn. Rakesh told so. Now, I get Phil; move your things."

Aster blanked. "What? Rakesh? Move?"

The large man, Aster presumed bodyguard, waved to North and headed to the elevator.

The older man grinned. "Yes, job require you live with me."

"What exactly does this job entail?" Aster paled. Was he really being sold to the Russian mob? That was just a joke. Just a joke. He was far too well trained in martial arts, and hairy to be a good commodity. Sure, there all types but not for his type. Who liked people who liked Easter over Christmas? You had to be at least a little odd in the head.

North shrugged on his coat as Aster gathered his things together. He listed off the job detail, two things specifically. "You will build world, find my son."

"What? How are those related?" Aster stilled. Okay... A little odd in the head...

North took one look at his face and shrugged, like Aster was missing something very important. "Sandman explain," he said.

Aster trailed after him to the elevator. "Sandman? You're kidding."

He realized as the elevator door shut behind him, that North was serious.

"Crikey."


	2. At the Pole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster meets some people and bamboo is a type of grass.

His first impression was "How the hell are we in suburban New York?" Bunnymund stared at the trees lining the drive and a dark forest that extended far beyond. Shadows fell along the branches. The colors screamed at him, begging to be remembered. He wanted to pull out some watercolors, or even prisma colors and sketch this. Twenty something minutes from the urban fringe he was enveloped in forest. North chuckled behind him.

"You like?" The Russian waved to the forest. He looked mildly surprised.

Aster gaped at him incredulously. "God, yes."

The man sighed looking at his hands. "You are lot like Jack." Aster jolted with the road. First Rakesh then Sandman and now Jack. He remembered why he should be on edge. There was an odd silence in the car, a thick miasma. Bunnymund stared at the tree line until it vanished.

"Bloody hell." He stared at the three tier, half glass, half hardwood cabin. Angular construction and sharp lines clawed at his eyes as stark contrasts blinded him. He stepped out of the car and North guide him up the steps and to a room. Behind him he could hear North snickering about how he still had to see the sleigh.

* * *

Aster settled in, calling everyone who needed to be called.

That started with Mike. The little twat laughed his face off.

"God, man, we really did sell you to the mafia, huh? This is hilarious! Harvey, come listen to this!" He was still laughing as Bunnymund hung up.

The he called Leah. She sighed and muttered about their lonely apartment. She wished him well and reminded him to get a freaking radioactive talk box, so she wouldn't worry. He made a mental note to pick up a prepaid cell.

He called up his land lord next. The tiny little Asian man  who was most certainly related to Sully with their  insane ability to not pay any attention at all and still pay attention complained very loudly into the phone and told him that some men had ransacked his apartment. Of course, then he had to explain to Mr. Chan that the men weren’t actually dangerous and that his things had been moved more or less under his expressed consent.

Mr. Chan then told him that Sully just got home and wanted to talk to him.

“I knew you two were related, ya ruddy reed!” He crowed into the phone. Behind him he was sure he heard Phil moving his box of art supplies, or rather the first of his boxes of art supplies, into the room. The thick carpet barely masked the thump.

He heard some clatter of pans in the background and Sully call out something in Mandarin. “Yeah, sure,” he said into the phone. “And bamboo isn’t a reed. It’s a grass.”

Bunny played with the gold tassels on the green boudoir pillows. He liked the flowing pattern on the comforter, very floral.  Sully prattled on. “Reeds also happen to be a type of grass.”

Hm… He could definitely see the pattern in other places. Yeah, he could turn it into frost, why not. It’s pretty and he can do whatever he wants with pretty. “Sully, they’re just reeds.”

“No, they are not. You brought it up man.” He could practically feel the bruised ego through the phone. Sully was pouting, full on “Leah and her ruddy red hair have nothing on this” pouting.

Mario Cart and bamboo summed up Sullivan “Sully” Lin just like that. Bunny got off his bed and promptly almost tripped over an easel. When had that gotten there? He padded over the lush, green carpet and threw open the pale yellow curtains. Trees as far as the eye could see.

“Sorry. But, hey, how about I send you some photos of some really nice trees?”

He could hear a little grumble on the other end. “Your nice or my nice?”

Botany students, you can never do anything with them. “Your nice.” He reached into one of the poxes and plucked out a camera. He’d gotten it second hand from none other than Sully with the promise to take photos of plants all whenever he had the chance. Of course, that ended with his shots being less about anatomy and more about the artistry of the shot, but who was complaining?

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, my new place has a sea of tress right outside. I could easily send you a few shots. Oh, look is that a Carex nigromarginata?” He could hear and audible gasp from the other end. Offense forgotten.

“What? Are you sure? How tall is it? What is the rainfall there? Where are you?”

Bunny listed off his rough coordinates on Google earth. All while configuring his camera. Oh, yeah, he knew what he was going to do first.

“It’s not supposed to live in that area! Aster, do you have any idea what this means?”

He cracked open the window and started snapping shots of the forest, phone sandwiched between his face and his shoulder. “It means you’ll forgive me?”

“Forgive you? I’ll drag you in front of the Department of Environmental Conservation’s Rare Plant board and make you testify. We could be famous!” Leave it to sully to get excited about a tree that might or might not be there. He’d taken a wild guess because it sure looked like the sketches Sully kept shoving in his face, but he couldn’t be sure from a distance.

“Calm yourself. I’m not sure it’s a carex nigromarginata.”

Sully, never to be daunted the little bugger, crowed, “Can I get a one way ticket to wherever you are?”

“That’s a sucky pickup line,” Bunny muttered.

“Whatever. Where did you move to?”

Bunny slung the camera strap over his neck and realized the file of yeti-like men finished with his boxes. He noted the art supplies were kindly placed in one stack and his boxes of books and doodads were near the couch (oh, he had a plush couch in his room) and shelving.

“I’m living at St. North’s.”

“St. North, like toy mogul St. North?” He paused. “Did Mike finally sell you to the Russian mob?”

“Nope, though I do think Donna might have tried.” Ah, the pretty redhead always made it known that if he so much as made a Jessica Rabbit joke he would roast over a spit.

“Well, talk to your land lord and …. Bye. I think the fried rice is on fire.” He heard something that sounded like “Wei she me?” and “Jiu jiu, wo zuo tian gen ni shuo le. Bie an na…” and what not. He hung up and glanced at the boxes. Okay…

He got through A-K of his library, discovering that he did indeed have Howl’s Moving Castle, the book and movie, but that they were placed under H instead of W and M respectively.  

Bunny stretched and collapsed a few boxes. Okay, so about three-fourths of his stuff was in still in card, not bad. He picked the camera up off its place on the c-shelf (yes, he liked to be organized, thank you very much) and padded out the door.

His shoes hit soft carpet and sunk in. What was with North and these fur sheets he called decoration? He managed to somehow make it to the end of the hall and down the cherry wood stairs case. Yep, Nami, the interior decorator he knew from his days in art school, would swoon.

“Oof!” Bunny reached out and caught a fluffy mob of feathers? The bundle quickly righted and extricated itself from his grasp.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The feathers dusted themselves off with very human hands. The girl pulled back the hood and revealed a multicolor bob. She blinked her, rather alarmingly, large, violet eyes and smiled shyly at him.

“No problem. I’m fine and,” he assessed the camera, “the camera’s fine too.” He held out a hand.

“E. Aster Bunnymund, part-time captive and full-time artist.” He winked and she flushed a little.

“Titania LeFey, most people call me Tooth. May I call you Aster?” She took his hand and shook lightly with a little squeeze.

He nodded. Hm… sparky this one. “If I can call you Tooth.” She grinned in perfect ultra-white.

She more or less dragged him down the stairs and a set of corridors and he realizes that (a) if she was leading him to his imminent doom, he would have no idea that that was happening, and (b) North should have a ruddy map made of the grounds because he is as lost as a duckling in a mole hill. Not that he’s a duckling; it’s just an analogy.

“Let’s go outside. I know Jamie’s dying to meet you.” Tat- no, Tooth hauled him along and practically tossed him out the door.

He didn’t know she had it in her.

“Who’s this?” Bunny looked around and then kicked off his shoes. The ground sunk into his skin and reminded him that, oh, yeah, he’s an outdoors type of guy.  He turned to the speaker and was mildly amused to see a brown eyed young man staring back at him as he almost, just shy really, rolled around on the perfectly manicured ground because New York is a concrete jungle of pollution and grime and all things not good for Mother Earth.

The kid narrowed his eyes at him which wasn’t as scary as he intended it to be with a smear of glitter right under his left eye. Tooth hopped on to the ground in her bright yellow sandal heels and gestured to the manly ball of joy. “Jamie, E. Aster Bunnymund. Aster, Jamie Bennet.”

“Bunnymund,” Jamie said slowly. A streak appeared behind him.

“HOP HOP!”  Aster barely got the camera out of the way as a five-years-old child barreled into him.

“Whoa, who is this?” The little blonde bundle bounced around him looking absolutely mystified, as if a rabbit just stood up on its hind legs and started talking.

“BLUE!” She yelled, reaching for his head. Bunny placed the camera on the nearby table and knelt down. The little girl tugged on the longer parts of his hair and giggles. Gosh, if only girls stayed this easy to please.

“Mr. Bunnymund, this is Pippa, my niece.” Bunnymund made a cursory hop and the child, Pippa, laughed again. He pulled her onto his back and broke into a run.

He could hear her laughing in his ear as he belted around the garden, jumping over hedges and ducking under low hanging branches. The table appeared and disappeared from his view as he spans and twirled Pippa around. He couldn’t remember the last time he played with a child.

“Older or younger?” He called back to Jamie a little breathlessly. He couldn’t remember the last time he ran a full mile with extra weight on either.

The man grinned a little taking in his niece’s joy at meeting the new, odd man. “Elder sister, her name’s Sophie.” Bunnymund set the dizzy little tyke down and flopped into a chair.

“Sophie, eh? She anything like her mum?”

“I remember she used to call the Easter Bunny ‘Hop Hop’.” Jamie sat in the chair across as Tooth and Pippa, bless her little heart, was wearing fairy wings and dancing in a circle of mushrooms. He handed the winded man a drink. “You must be the new architect North hired.”

Bunny took the proffered drink and sipped gratefully. “Architect, mate? Yeah, I guess. I took a few classes. More for illustrating children’s books myself.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow and then lowered it with a laugh. “Of course. Of course.” He extended a slightly calloused hand. “He’d definitely pick a fun one.”

“What’s that mean?”

“All the other guys were boring as hell. Like, there was this one guy, Nash. He was a major creeper. He ever scared Seraphina, and that’s saying something. Then, there was that one freak Kat dragged in.”

“You mean a cat dragged someone in?”

“No, Katharine Walker, she’s… well, I guess you’ll meet her later.” He did not like the sound of that. “You’re just different. Most were kind of stogy and un-fun.”

Bunny picked up a cake from the tea stand and bit into it, strawberry short cake and fluffy as heavenly clouds. He might have interrupted a fairy tea party. “Un-fun isn’t a word.”

“Microsoft accepts it. Yeah, they were so…  Jack didn’t like them at all.” The lack of an adjective alarmed him. Yes, it alarmed his very much because people who don’t deserve adjectives are typically not remembered when they’re dead. It’s a dull grey headstone and the cold, cold earth for them.

“He’s not boring. He’s unorthodox.”

Bunny leapt out of his chair poised to strike. He promptly realized that was a very bad idea as the immaculately dressed woman with four inch heels. She looked perfectly fine in the heat.

Jamie smirked at her. “Hey, Kat, we were just talking about you.”

“If you were referring to the time I dragged in my uncle…” She gave him a warning glare and Bunny felt his mind fill in the rest of the threat. He picked up his cup, poised to sip.

Jamie tapped his freckled nose. “Yeah, yeah, we never speak of Sherlock Holmes.

“Your uncle is…” Bunny set down his cup of tea, so much for avoiding a spit take.

She turned to him brushing back a chocolate brown curl. “Yes. Q is waiting and he doesn’t like the time difference.” She spun on her heel, stalking off to the house.

Bunny stared after her. That woman was wound tighter than a coil in a balance bomb. “Q?”

Jamie popped a crème puff into his mouth and muttered around the mouthful, “Her other uncle, you might like him.”

The young man swallowed dusting off his fingers on his North West jacket. “Is he also a…?”

Jamie nodded, muttering something about Seraphina and adjusting his beanie. Bunny stared. He was out of his depth. Really out of his depth.  Jamie led the way back to the house laughing at his face.

“Just so you know, they’ve got some serious connections.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leah: St. Patrick's Day  
> Sully: Chinese New Year  
> Yes, I made Sophie older than Jamie. I just named the little girl Pippa because I couldn't remember the name I wanted.  
> This is the most I've written in months.
> 
> Also, anyone who can find the Skyfall fiction (I think it's on AO3) where Q-branch sings/plays Skyfall (the song) to Q and Bond gets my sincere thanks and the title Fan Fiction Sleuth.
> 
> Sorry for all mistakes. It's all un-beta-ed.


	3. Into the Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author stops teasing and lets Arthur and Eames make an appearance, Jack is still yet to be seen, Katharine is related to everyone, Seraphina loves powerpoints, and Sandman looks good in sports jackets.

The board room (never minding that North had a board room in his house because he was just that kind of posh) had only two other people in it. A blonde man who smiled benevolently and appeared to be either asleep or meditating sat in the seat across from him. A taller and much more… ominous figure stalked behind him looking impatient and more than a little disdainful of Bunnymund’s bare feet.

He’d tried to talk Katharine into letting him wash up and fetch his shoes earlier, but she had waved him off saying that the cleaning staff had dealt with worse. He didn’t know what was worse, the way she said it, as if the cleaning staff would find it little more than a small bother to clean up three halls and a flight of rugs, or that the staff really did find it easy to do so because when he turned around, there were no stains to be seen. He almost screamed witchcraft.

Well, he thought as he watched the tall and scary bloke pace, the one that looked high was certainly his best bet. He leaned in a little waving to get the man’s attention. “Um… Hello, I’m Bunnymund and you are?”

Large, golden eyes opened to meet his green. He blinked, readjusting his view of the man because now, despite the beige sports jacket, the man looked about his age; maybe a little younger with his plump cheeks that widened into a grin. He made some signals with his hands and Bunnymund was at a loss of words. He fumbled around looking for a note pad because obviously the man spoke English even if Bunnymund didn’t speak whatever form of sign language the man was using.

A crisp, British accent cut across the table and Bunnymund felt a kneejerk reaction to the sound of the nation that colonized his home. The tall, lanky man said, “He says his name is Hiram Sanderson and he is a neurologist.”

The man sat in the chair next to Sanderson, stroking down his severe, black on grey suit. He turned to watch the quick, birdlike movements of the blonde’s hands. “Please call him Sandy or Sandman. Most people do.”

Bunnymund nodded and it all made sense now. He was so silly to think North meant the guy out of the comic books. “And you are?”

The man smirked, his face morphing between smug and disconcerting. “Dr. Kozmotis Pitchiner, child psychiatrist. Dr. Pitchner, or just Pitchner, if you desire to be pedantic.”

Bunnymund squashed a wince. “Dr. Pitchner it is.”

“Papa?” A young, dark haired woman stepped into the room. He gave her a quick once over: large, fluffy sweater; hair pinned into a messy bun; nerd glasses. He noted the RRR pin on her sweater and figured that she would get along just fine with Leah.

Pitchiner nodded to her as she kissed his cheek. “Seraphina, my daughter.”

“Hello, you must be the new architect.” He held out a hand to shake.

Bunnymund nodded and shook, like a well-trained dog. “Yes, I suppose. Jamie mentioned something similar before.”

She smiled benevolently at him as she pulled out a flash drive. “I’ll brief you on the basics until they finish setting up.” The door behind her opened and people started filing in. He recognized everyone, thank the heavens. “Oh, wonderful, everyone’s here. I can make use of the power point.”

They settled into seats with North at the head of the table, screen just behind his chair. Then, clockwise, Katharine, Seraphina, Pitchiner, Sandman, two empty seats, and Bunnymund sat with Sandy opposite North.

Katharine came in near last with a smart phone in hand. For a moment, Bunnymund did a double take as the two dark haired women stood side by side. Katharine looked like she was all business and ready to pull some teeth, though that was Tooth’s job. Ignoring just about everyone in the room, she fiddled with her phone. Seraphina smiled as she caught his eye and waved. Katharine raised an eyebrow as she was nudged by a sweatered elbow.

“Q?”

A face appeared on the screen, dark hair and green-blue eyes filling the area available. The face backed away until Bunnymund saw someone a little older than himself, still spotty, and glasses wearing. He settled back in the chair he sat in. “Katharine, you want to tell me what it’s for?”

“No. Please, no.” She shook her head, pocketing her phone.

The man turned to the room. “You should know who I am. You’re looking at what’s going to be a multilevel job. Arthur and Eames can tell you more about that; they know what they’re doing. I can tell you though, that this job is going to be unorthodox from the sound of it so far.”

Out of the corner of the screen, he pulled out a diagram. “Here’s the diagram of the device. It should get the job done. Note the docks are better spaced and the whole system is more efficient. I believe it should handle more unstable substances and the multi-release relay allows you to alternate between sedatives and somnacin. You should be well and good into the project before you need to trigger any of the safe guards, but it never hurts to be safe.”

Katharine nodded. “Thank you, uncle.”

He smiled pressing a finger to the camera. “No problem, Kat. Sweet dreams.”

She held up a hand, as if he could see it. “Kisses to James.”

The screen blacked out and what looked like Microsoft power point appeared on the screen. Seraphina appeared to be twiddling with it. North leaned into Katharine, to whisper, just barely into her ear.

“Did we get case?”

She whispered back. “Arthur and Eames are running a second check as we speak.”

North glanced over to the two empty seats over to the side. “You know we could not done this without you.”

She smirked and Bunnymund revised her age up a little. “No, it would have been much harder.”

“Will they be go under again?”

“I don’t know.”

Seraphina clapped her hand as the screen showed the usual presentation loading screen. “It’s ready.”

She took her place at the small podium by the screen. North spun his chair around to watch the slides flicker by in a test run. Finally happy with how the screen looked, Seraphina said, “Hello everyone. I am Seraphina Pitchner and since we have a new member to this team, we are going to run through names.”

The first slide flipped into place and Bunnymund tried not to cough after he choked on air. “E. Aster. Bunnymund, artist.”

He didn’t know where they found his driver license photo, but they somehow did. God, he looked like he was in pain in that photo. It made sense because he had a high heel digging into his foot from the woman who took the photo because he couldn’t stay still. He just wished they looked up photos from his Facebook instead. He looked over the basic information. They got his birthday right: April 20th, Easter the year he was born. 

An image of North with a child on his shoulders appeared on the next slide, with some basic biography. “Nicholas St. North, owner and proprietor of Holiday Inc.”

“Kozmotis Pitchiner, child psychiatrist.” Oddly, the image wasn’t of a sad, or pained looking man posing for a medical file photo, but a father smiling at Christmas with a hat pulled over his slicked hair.

Sandman’s benevolent smile filled the screen. “Hiram Sanderson, neurologist.”

What looked like an acting head shot of Katharine sat next to a bio that listed everything but her occupation as not available, which he questioned greatly. “Katharine Walker, nurse.”

“Tatiana LeFey, James Bennett, and Seraphina Pitchiner, friends.” Three photos with small bits of information on them.

The last slide flicked into place and Bunnymund recognized the boy from the photo of North. He had a dark blue sweater on and he appeared to be smiling against a back drop of snow and winter. His cheeks were rosy and his lips plump and frosted red. Bunnymund blinked twice at the blue eyes, because no eyes could be that blue. Seraphina caught him staring at the photo and winked. “Jackson Overland Frost, the patient.”

She flicked to another slide. The young man was sitting on top of a horse, almost comically tipping a Stetson over his eyes and winking saucily at the camera. The photo after that was of Jackson and his friends at the beach, sunscreen smeared over his nose and his arms around Tooth and James. “He’s a twenty year old with a double major in business and literature. Weird, I know. His favorite things are snow days and ice skating. He hates burnt pop tarts and people who take themselves too seriously.”

The image switched to the picture of the same young man, pale and cold on white sheets. His eyes were closed, dusky circles around his eyes and his pale blonde hair tousled over the pillows. A breathing mask covered his nose and mouth. Seraphina took a deep breath before looking directly at Bunnymund. “He’s currently in a coma. We have medical staff on hand, namely myself and Katharine, to prevent any great suspicion.”

“The cause of the coma was an accident six months ago. While walking across school campus, Jack was hit by dark vehicle. It is assumed that they were there to kidnap him seeing his familial relations, but upon seeing that he was unmoving and bleeding, they left him be.”

On the next slide were a few grainy photos from what looked like a security camera. There was a dark van, cliché, and a few masked men, more cliché. Even Katharine seemed to think so because her eyebrow rose in a way that communicated, “If I was the one who kidnapped him, I would have hired a better team and they would have snatched him under the pretense of being driven home by his father’s chauffer and then he would be stripped of all communication and tracking devices. No one would have been the wiser of his location until the money landed in an off shore account and then Jackson would mysteriously appear in the lobby of The Workshop, on the opposite side of town from the drop spot, unconscious and unharmed.”

Seeing how all this was conveyed by her eyebrows, he had the feeling he should never get on her bad side.

“He was then brought to St. Luke’s Hospital where he was treated by Dr. Castiel Novak, neurology, and Dr. Winchester, emergency.” Photos from the official directory of the hospital appeared in the screen: a blue-eyed dark haired gentleman and a green-eyed blonde gentleman. They looked like decent fellows, if a bit young and too “Dr. Sexy M.D.” than actual hospital.

“They stabilized him, and then referred him to Dr. Sanderson. Dr. Sanderson noted that he had some hemorrhaging to the brain, but nothing as so serious as to cause permanent damage.”  A few images of brain scans appeared and they meant absolutely nothing to him. Sandman nodded though, looking at the photos.

A tired face smiled from the next slide. He still had the mask on, but Jack looked a little better. “Two days later, Jack awoke to some degree of lucidity and then slipped back into unconsciousness. Three months later, North had him removed from the hospital for care at home. Katharine, our nurse, happened to have fortuitous connections to two gentlemen who have woken people from comas.”

It took Bunnymund a moment to realize the red head in the photo, reflected across the chrome cases around his bed, was Katharine. Wow, she looked scarier as a red head.

“We have tried to wake him several times already.” A few faces appeared on the next slide. “The first architect we hired was Nash. We were removed not five minutes in. The most recent, Sherlock Holmes, bought us three hours, but we didn’t manage to get anywhere with Jack.”

She ended the slide show and smiled at Bunnymund, because this really was all for him. “We’re hoping that not only a change in architect, but a change in tactic will help us get where we need to go.”

Bunnymund stared back at all the faces turned expectantly to him. “And where is that?” he asked. “Sorry, but I don’t understand a single thing that’s going on.”

“Dream sharing.” A tall and slim man sat in the seat next to him, extending a hand. Bunnymund shook as Arthur rose from his seat, revealing a man behind him. “I’m Arthur, and this is Eames.” He used his other to gesture to the larger, more muscled man next to him.

He placed a case on the table opening it. It was a complex mass of wires and tubes. “You’re looking at dream-sharing, a form of technology that allows one to enter people’s dreams, or rather, as we learned later, their unconscious. Safe to say, the industry collapsed rather quickly, people running out as fast as they could and erasing their names as well as they could. We came out of retirement as a favor to Katharine.”

Katharine smiled at him. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Is everyone her uncle?” Bunnymund asked no one.

Eames spoke a quietly. “Yes, I believe she is also related to a guy out west by the name of Nick Burkhardt, but I’m not sure what’s about him. Isn’t he a writer or something?”

Bunnymund almost cried. Another Brit.

“That’s the short edition.” Arthur smirked from the front of the room, with Katharine at his side, The case was packed up at her side.

Bunnymund looked over the table. “You still haven’t told me exactly what it is I’m doing.”

Katharine stood by the door Arthur held open. “You are designing a world where Jack will feel comfortable, and a maze for us to escape into. Come on.” She swirled outside without another word. Like an army, the others rose and followed. Eames smiled at him, gesturing him to follow.

Bunnymund took a few steps down the hall trailing behind the others. He thought over what she said before stopping.

Panicked, he ran to reach the front of the pack. “Wait, maze? To escape from what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have stuff to do. Why did I write this?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bunnymund learns to dream and the trio of dreamers show their cards.

Eames extended his arm, swinging it wide. A torrent of canaries, bright and colorful, flew past him and into Bunnymund’s face. He watched Katharine and Eames drop to the ground and morph into lions, stalking toward him. One, smaller and sleeker, roared, almost destroying his ear drums.

He heard a distinct voice, Arthur’s, saying, “This is misdirection.”

Cold metal pressed against his neck.

* * *

Bunnymund sat in his room staring at the wall. He liked the floral print. It was a very pretty floral print. He ran his hands through his hair. Who was he kidding? This was insane. This was positively insane. There was no way in the universe to do anything like he had heard them talk about. Arthur had explained the basics of dream sharing. He’d even let Bunnymund take a go at it.

The boxer hadn’t lasted three minutes before Arthur had to effectively take him out of the dream.

You had to be shot out of dreams. Why hadn’t anyone told him that?

He could still feel the bullet hitting his temple, the sudden shock that he knew he was going to die and the hazy feeling that his brain was half splattered on a wall and a few of those people things before waking up.

“Projections.” Bunnymund looked up. Katharine smiled at him from the doorway. “They’re called projections.”

He hadn’t even heard her come in. She stepped across the room, heels muffled by the carpet. Planting herself down next to him, she stared at the wall too.

“You know, that wasn’t half bad for a first time go.” Her legs swung slowly. Odd, because he was sure they were a mile long earlier.

He pressed a chuckle out of his throat. “How long did you last?”

“Fifteen minutes.” She didn’t look away from the wall, but her eyes were unfocused. As if by explanation, she continued, “I started blowing stuff up after the first ten and it took another five for them to catch me.”

“Wow.” That really was the only way to describe it because he spent the last minute in Arthur’s head running for his life.

She smiled, turning to him. Her shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug that pulled on her deep red blouse in all the right places if he was into that. He blinked at the color though. He was sure she was wearing a mauve one earlier.

“I played around a lot in my own head. Be glad you survived even a minute in Arthur’s. Most can’t manage that.”

He thought about the sub-machine guns he had only seen in movies and how they sounded remarkably accurate in the dream, like Arthur had spent a good part of his life toting an automatic. “How did you?”

“Who said it was Arthur’s? I’m talking about Eames.” She rolled her eyes placing a hand near his. She leaned in a little closer, dark eyes peering into his. “I lasted ten in Arthur’s and spent half of it staving off a garrison’s worth of armored men. They are the best in the business for a reason. They don’t have pity for family.”

Bunnymund backed up, pressing his back against one of the pillars of the four poster bed. “I don’t have to go into the dream, right? I just have to design something and you’ll bring it in.”

Katharine brushed a curl back with her manicured hand, when had she gotten her nails painted red because they were not earlier, and leaned in a little closer, eyes half lidded. “Well, yes. I’ll be extracting this time around. It appears that Jack doesn’t appreciate people running around in his brain.”

“So he’s like Arthur then?”

She prowled across the edge of the bed, pressing a hand against his knee. He could feel her nails through his jeans. “We trained him to be.”

She looked him up and down, slow and burning. Her eyes flicked up from his waist and to his eyes. “You had to be shot out because you had to make something change. Impress me.”

It sounded like she wanted to be impressed in more ways than one.

“I pulled a bridge out of air and stuck it across the roof tops.” He managed not to sound like a strangled, or at least mangled, teenage boy stuck in the same room as a playboy bunny.

“Not bad. Aunt Ariadne folded the world over itself and didn’t get caught.” She tilted her head to one side, baring a pale expanse of neck. “She was unnaturally talented at it.”

Bunnymund swallowed. He asked, “What about you? You said explosions.”

A small smile danced on her lips as a hand slid under his shirt. “I pulled a glass cathedral out of the ground and then blew it to smithereens.”

“Oh?” He kept his voice neutral and tried to push her hand away.

She pressed her lips to the cup of his ear. She whispered. Her breath was hot and moist. Okay, on a good day, he might have found that attractive. On some bad days, he would have found that very attractive. But, today? He was feeling more along the lines of, “This woman is scary as hell and that does not turn me on.” More emphasis on the woman part than the scary as hell part.

“I had to take out Eames’ army. You do realize when I said no pity I meant that they were not afraid to pull together a platoon of Special Forces and a dragon to take out a thirteen year old girl.”

Bunnymund gasped as she bit on his ear lobe. “I get the feeling you are telling me more than you should.”

“Who said any of this is true?”

The look of lust on her face vanished in an instant and the cool woman he knew replaced the vixen. She slipped off the mattress to lean on one of the pillars. Her shirt was back to mauve and her nails violet. A smirk painted her now pale pink lips. “How did you get here?”

Bunnymund blinked in confusion. “I arrived this morning. North drove me. Well, Phil actually drove…”

“I mean here, exactly where you are now.”

“I left the room we had next to Jack’s room and…” Bunnymund felt a burning in his cheeks.

“I don’t remember.”

“Arthur spent a good deal of three hours explaining the finer mechanics of dreaming to you and you didn’t internalize a single one?”

She rolled her eyes checking them off on her fingers. “Lesson one: always ask yourself if you are dreaming, especially when things appear too good to be true. Lesson two: don’t make any unnecessary changes, otherwise you’re dead. Lesson three: if you can’t find your way out, construct one. You’re already in over your head. Try to keep the job going. That includes, forcing your way in and talking the mark into the trap. Lesson four: never put anyone at odds to their dream unless you’ve got a very good reason to do it. Lesson five: if you’re going to make someone uncomfortable, do it in your won head. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

He though back to the touches and the words she used. The emphasis was perfect really. She managed to force him into a corner with the sheer power of his own attempts to be chivalrous and polite. Well, that was a professional job now that he thought about it. There wasn’t anything in it that showed she actually liked him then or now. In fact, he had gotten the vibe that she reproduced asexually, if at all, earlier. Her hand never traveled below his navel.

The room wasn’t perfect either because it wasn’t his memory. It was her construction in her brain. That would be the only explanation as to why his projections hadn’t attacked her despite the fact he felt so uncomfortable.

Why hadn’t he picked up on the fact that the books on the shelf weren’t his and the boxes he’d only half unpacked were gone? And since when were there silver patterns on the coverlet he sat on? He knew they were gold. Now that he thought for a moment, there were so many mistakes.

Clues, he reminded himself. Clues. This was a test and he had failed miserably.

He heard a faint voice speaking. “You still have time to learn. Not everyone gets this on their first try.”

Bunnymund sighed. He was an artist. He should have noticed the mistakes in the prints that he never put up. The dress in the rococo painting he had a print of was pink not blue and the face of Socrates looked disturbingly like North in that neo-classical print he had framed next to it. The basilica he had a sketch of had three towers, not four anyway.

She tapped her fingers on the post to get his attention. “This is what we want to do to Jack, lull him into confidence and comfort or distract him. He already knows to ask himself that, but with the proper distraction, we can get him to let his guard down.”

“So you’re going to… Fondue?” He wasn’t sure regarding the proper term to use.

Katharine smirked derisively. How had that ever appeared sexually charged he wondered? Oh, yeah, you can talk a person into feeling a certain way just by the sheer force of having them under your thumb. He’d been played like a fiddle.

“You think we haven’t tried that? No, we have to appeal to another part of him.”

“And then what?” He asked, because, his own guilt at failure aside, he hadn’t learned what to do afterwards.

Katharine eyed him up. “The standard procedure is to shoot him.”

“What?”

“Like this.” She pulled out a gun and aimed it between his eyes.

“Oh.”

* * *

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Bunnymund. I assume your trip was enjoyable?”

Bunnymund jolted out of his resting position in a chair. A muscle in his neck shot aflame. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You shot me!”

Katharine, dressed in mauve and violet, shrugged. He noticed that the tugging that appeared in the dream didn’t appear in real life. The artistry of that scheme was “All part of the job. You really shouldn’t advertise yourself as an available heterosexual when you are more of a picky bisexual on the Kinsey scale. That would have made the lesson go more smoothly.” He did not know what file she pulled that from. Even if it was true.

“It’s to protect my reputation as the guy with the accent,” he said on automatic.

Leah had ragged on him enough about that lack of a love life for years. It wasn’t his fault he wanted someone who was gorgeous and creative and adventurous and sure of what they wanted. It didn’t help her case that he had a fear of stilettos since the DMV incident, but overall he was pretty sure it would have worked on any less picky and more heterosexual guy.

“You realize I learned the art of seduction from the best in the business.” Bunnymund wondered if he had monologued out loud because that would be very bad. Her eyebrows told him as much.

He tried to paste on a grin and rally the troops. “You were a playboy bunny?”

Or maybe he had just sealed his fate to the bottom of the Hudson.

 “Eames. He taught me to play to desire. I never would have guessed that stilettos would have been my downfall.” Oh, so he had said that out loud.

“Oh. Where are…?” He glanced around. Why couldn’t one of her uncles appear out of the wood work and just end his embarrassment because it looked like he would be the only embarrassed one between the both of them and as such would have to shoulder enough for them both.

“Arthur and Eames told me they were going off to find us some food, but they probably wanted to go snog or something." She shrugged like the sexual activities of her uncles were simply common knowledge. "We have Q’s upgrades here. We are all set to go.”

“Okay… So we never left this room.”

“Yes.”

“Whoa. That’s so…”

“Memento?”

“I was going for something a little more of the Matrix style, but that works too.”

“Come on.”

* * *

Katharine waved her hand over the prone body on the bed before sitting in a chair opposite. “This is Jack.”

Bunnymund blinked at the body that rested in a pristine white room. The room looked almost like a hospital room, complete with nondescript print on the wall and the checkered flooring. A small part of him wondered if any of this was especially put in for Jack because it looked like it had been installed with that wing of the house.  The young man looked like a patient down to the paper gown he was wearing, the top part unobscured by the blankets wrapped around him.

“So, uh, I gotta tap into his imagination?”

Katharine nodded. “Something like that.”

Bunnymund glanced around the room. There didn’t seem to be any sort of personal touch to it.

Suddenly, the idea came to him.

“Can I see his old room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point of "the seduction in dream" potential by an experienced dreamer will be made apparent in the later chapters. 
> 
> Also, OC/Bunnymund is so not my thing. Like, I winced writing that, so if you're seeing awkwardness, you know where it came from. Problem was: I couldn't imagine Arthur volunteering to do the job and Eames would probably put Bunnymund in the hospital for an aneurysm. So that leaves one experienced dreamer to handle the whole deal. Damn... I did not think that through. OC's were supposed to be extra humor here and there, not integral characters. 
> 
> Bunny is going to find love, just not in this chapter, or with this human.


End file.
